


Alarm Clock Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, Link is in a band, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Rhett is catholic and doesn't know what to do with himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-19 12:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16534766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Rhett is young and nervous and freshly alone in a new city. Link is bored and tired and lonely in the same old city he's known his whole life.





	1. Saturday

**Author's Note:**

> hi so i havent written anything in a long long time and its been even longer since ive written anything in this fandom so please just be gentle with me ty xxx  
> (also yes the title is from i like what i like what of it)

The sidewalk glistened with yesterday's rain. The stars leered down at him from their perches in the clouds. Streetlights flickered, windows shone with warm light. 

Rhett clenched his fists as he walked. He focused on what was straight ahead, paying no mind to what was behind him. _Just a breath of fresh air_ , he told himself, _just a quick walk and then I'll go home._

He knew he shouldn't be out so late on a Saturday. He had to wake up early tomorrow: he had things to do, places to be. But he couldn't stay in his dingy little apartment any longer tonight, he just couldn't. So he was walking. Just a quick walk, he promised himself, then he'd go home. 

Tree after tree and house after house passed him by as he went, further and further away from home, closer and closer to the city. He could go into the city, he figured, just this once. He wouldn't stay for long, just in and out.

He'd never been into the city on a Saturday night since he'd moved out here: he'd never felt the need. Now, curiosity and tense, frantic energy drove him forward, onward, until he was surrounded by light; by sights and sounds and smells, and music - so much music - pouring out of every bar and restaurant and storefront. He looked at the buildings, high, towering above him, stretching long, concrete fingers into the sky. And there was music, so much music, so many songs that he couldn't find the words to. 

People bustled past him, busy and decisive in their way, and he didn't mind. Every step, every brush, every breath, was new. Everything came at him at once, relentlessly, not pausing or waiting or letting him process it all. He was letting himself be pushed into a bar and he was ordering a drink - and _what was he doing here?_ He didn't belong here, under dim strobe lights, surrounded by bodies and music and heat, and holding a drink with alcohol in it. What was he doing here? He didn't drink, didn't dance, didn't stand in crowds of people on his own and sip gin and tonic through a straw. 

He'd been to one party in his high school days and none in college, and the closest he'd ever been to alcohol was communion wine. The music was pounding in his chest, hitting him like a tidal wave. And the voices; so many hundreds of voices, all mingling together and talking as one. And they got louder and louder and louder, swelling to a roar, drowning out the music and the city and the little voice in his head saying he shouldn't be here, and Rhett looked on as the lights all changed and a stage appeared from the darkness and a band came out; and they captured the room like sirens. Every single person hung on their every movement: they set up mic stands and keyboards, slung guitar straps over shoulders. 

The man behind the microphone was tall - probably almost as tall as Rhett - and dressed head to toe in black. Black jeans, black jacket, black hair, black glasses, black boots, black nails. He had a bass slung over his left shoulder - black, again. He stood like he knew how to control a room. 

"Settle down, everybody," he said into the microphone with a voice like caramel and a wicked little smirk. Rhett tensed against the wall, goosebumps rising on his arms. There was a conflict in his mind; his mother's, father's, pastor's voices, all battling his own. He was allowed to find boys pretty. He was allowed to get excited. 

The hand that wasn't holding his glass touched his throat in a flurry of nervous habit. To find it bare felt foreign. 

_You took it off for a reason_ , he reminded himself, and took a big sip of his drink. 

He turned his attention back to the band, to the flawless man at the microphone who was still talking; asking questions, telling stories, making jokes. The band played music, as bands did. Rock music, which Rhett had never really listened to before, but he was an adult now. He was independent. He could do whatever the hell he wanted: he could buy drinks at bars and he could listen to bands who played music that cursed and screamed and shouted, he could find boys pretty and not give a damn. He found himself dancing - almost - enjoying what the band was doing. The end of each song was a sore disappointment. He wanted to live in this moment forever, with the loud music and the bright lights and the too-many-people and the sweaty, half-empty glass in his hand. 

The night had worn on when the band had finished, and his high mood disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. He set his now empty glass on a table and left it there, rushed into the bathroom and splashed himself with water. He gave himself a stern talking-to inside his head, telling himself how irresponsible he'd been and how bad he'd feel for it in the morning, but a small part of him still didn't care. He dried his face with rough paper towels, and was just about to leave the bathroom and leave the bar and leave the city when the door opened, and he watched it in the mirror, and the band's pretty frontman walked in. Rhett stayed at the sink for a long while, running over what to do now in his head. Should he stop the guy? Talk to him? Tell him how gorgeous he is? What if he panicked and said something wrong? What if he made a fool of himself? What if he-

"Excuse me?"

Rhett snapped back into it real quick. 

"I'm sorry?" he said, voice seizing in his throat. The band's beautiful vocalist was standing in front of him, smiling at him, clearly expecting him to respond to a question he didn't hear.

"I said," the frontman replied in that caramel voice, "Could I please get to the paper towels?"

Rhett felt himself flush as he moved, and looked at the floor as the other man dried his hands. He was just about to leave when Rhett stopped him, voice and thoughts and actions coming at a mile a minute. 

"You were really good up there," he said, and the frontman grinned at him. "I mean it, you were amazing, I couldn't- It was- It was so new? And I really liked it- And you- _You_ \- I really liked you. I think you're gorgeous- I mean- I- You- Sorry! You're very pretty, is what I meant to say- kind of- and-"

The frontman cut him off with a succinct hand gesture. He shut up straight away.

"What's your name, stranger?" he said, and Rhett swallowed nothing.

"Rhett. McLaughlin. Sorry, I-"

"No more sorries, Rhett. You're kinda pretty yourself." He produced a sharpie, God only knew from where, and gestured to Rhett's hand. "May I?"

He just nodded, and the frontman took his hand and scrawled something on it.

"That," he said, "Is my phone number. Call me when you're less drunk, okay sweetheart?"

The frontman left him with a wink and that same wicked smirk, and Rhett just stood there, staring at his hand, and the eleven numbers scrawled on it with ' _Link- xx_ ' written underneath in loopy cursive, and in that moment he felt like the luckiest man alive.


	2. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhett finds clarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw// homophobic language, drug references.

The weak daylight disappeared earlier and earlier every day. Rhett checked his watch. Four thirty. The streetlights flickered once, then twice, then came on. He sighed, moving away from the window, leaving his thoughts on the sill.   
He sat down at the kitchen table and stared at his hands, and then at the overhead light, and then at his hands again, and then at his phone. It lay face down on the polished wood, white case catching the light. He reached for it, and then just held it - for a long time he didn't turn it on. The screen lit up with an email, which he both promptly ignored and took as a sign. He unlocked the device and went into his contacts, scrolling down the list until he found the name he was looking for. 'Link'. What a name.   
He hesitated for a minute; got up and walked a lap around the room, looked at the light again until green spots danced in his vision, poured himself a glass of water and drank it all in one go. His hand moved to his throat again: still bare. He stared at his phone on the table for a long time, then shook his head and turned on his heel to go upstairs.  
The gold chain lay exactly where he'd left it on the bathroom sink a week ago. He picked it up and stared at the cross-shaped pendant that adorned it. For years it had been there for him to grasp when he felt nervous; not to pray - though sometimes he did - just to have something in his hand, something familiar to ground him when he was anxious. He held the chain but did not put it on.   
He counted the sixteen stairs as he went down them in twos. His phone still lay face up on the table, taunting him. He picked it up and sat on the couch. Then he stood up again and sat at the table. Then he stood up again and perched on the windowsill, long legs almost spanning his tiny kitchen. He opened his contacts again. His finger hovered over the call button. His other hand fidgeted with the necklace. It was now or never, he decided, and pressed call.  
It rang once, then twice, then three times, then-  
"Hello?"  
Rhett panicked, gasped, and almost dropped his phone.  
"Hi," he choked, cheeks going red even though Link couldn't see him.  
"Who is this?" said that voice, and Rhett realised he'd never given Link _his_  number, so he wouldn't know who he was. Maybe Link didn't even remember him; their meeting at the bar had almost been a week ago now.  
"It's Rhett. We met at that bar? On Saturday?"  
Link laughed on the other side of the phone. It was like music.  
"Rhett! I remember. I was worried you wouldn't call."  
Inwardly, Rhett cursed himself for not doing this sooner.  
"Well, here I am. Calling."  
There was quiet for a long time. Rhett wanted to hang up and throw his phone away and then crawl into a hole and die. Existing was a mistake.  
"What are you doing this Saturday, Rhett?"  
Link's voice carried a smile. Rhett's mouth was suddenly very dry.   
"Nothing, why?"  
"Well, I was wondering if you might like to, you know, hang out?"  
Alarm bells went berserk in his head. The world was on fire and the sky was falling down and his heart was racing in his chest and he was going to spontaneously combust.  
"Yeah, okay,” he replied calmly, “sounds good. When?"  
"I'll come pick you up, around one thirty, maybe?"  
Rhett nodded, then realised Link couldn't see him and felt like an idiot.   
"Yeah, okay. One thirty's cool."  
"Cool."  
"Yeah... Super cool."  
Link giggled, and Rhett couldn't help but smile a little.   
"Gosh... See you Saturday, Rhett."   
The call ended with the same tone that phone calls always ended with, but it made Rhett's heart leap.   
-  
Saturday came too quickly. Rhett changed clothes four times before getting frustrated and throwing on a sweater. He watched the clock as he watched TV, bouncing his leg in a cocktail of anxiety and anticipation. One thirty came and went. One forty came and went. One fifty came and went. There was no sign of Link. Rhett was about to text, or maybe not, because he didn't want to seem clingy, but then, he was really excited. Just as he was thinking all this, the doorbell rang. In his haste to stand up to open it he almost knocked the coffee table over.   
When he opened the door, Link was leant against the porch fence, cigarette hanging from his lips, effortlessly cool. One hand was in the pocket of his jacket, the other was busy messing with his hair. Rhett's pink cheeks spoke for him before he had the chance to open his mouth.  
"Hi," he murmured at the floor, feeling like a fool for being so nervous. Link grinned at him.  
"Hey, Rhett. Long time no see."  
He knew Link was joking, but he also knew he should have called sooner.  
"Come in," he said, and his voice cracked. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll make you coffee?"  
Link threw his head back and laughed, pronounced Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He gestured to the still-lit cigarette his mouth - which he promptly let fall to the ground and crushed with the heel of his shoe - and then behind him to what Rhett presumed was his car.  
"Nah, we got places to go! C'mon, let's get going."  
Rhett grabbed his keys and didn’t ask questions and made sure once, twice, three times, that the door was locked before letting Link take his wrist and guide him to the car. His heart raced, utterly unsure of what to do with his hands or his eyes or his voice or himself. He sat there in the front seat of the battered blue Ford and tried not to think about what that smell was - it was definitely marijuana - and tried not to stare at Link's pretty profile as he focused on the road and tried not to let the anxiety gnawing at his stomach get to him. They didn't speak; music poured out of some unseen speaker system. Link seemed to know every song. They drove for a long time, Rhett not daring to ask questions, Link's singing along to the radio getting progressively louder and louder until it all stopped. The car seemed to stop at a dead end without Link telling it to. Rhett looked at him with concern. Link, however, seemed to totally expect this, and grinned at him like a shark.   
"Let's go!" he said excitedly, and Rhett hesitated. Where were they? Where were they going? Was this a mistake? Was Link a cult leader, and now was going to take him off into the forest and sacrifice him to the dark overlord?  
He was thinking too much. He got out of the car.  
"Where are we going?" he asked, and Link winked at him.   
"You'll see! Come on, just follow me." Link oozed confidence and excitement, cornflower eyes shining behind his glasses. He offered Rhett his hand. Rhett hesitated.   
His brain swirled with taunts and threats, each one a memory that made him wince. The voices that mocked him were familiar; family, friends, people he respected. But why did _he care?_ He wasn’t some kind of _pansy_ , was he? He knew that _God hates faggots_ and that _those filthy sodomites are goin’ straight to hell._ Didn’t he? Why did _he care?_  
“Rhett?”  
Link’s voice pulled him out of the waves. Rhett shook his head slightly.   
“Sorry,” he replied, quiet. “Zoned out.” He offered a smile. Link seemed unconvinced, but dropped it anyway.  
They walked in step beside each other, along dirt paths that seemed to move through several different middle of nowheres. Link talked, and Rhett listened, asking questions, soaking up every word. He talked about his band, about his family, about himself, and Rhett took it all in in awe. How was it that two people so different could end up here, walking together through nowhere, and be utterly okay with one another’s presence?  
They came upon a patch of trees, and Link stopped, turning to face Rhett with a smile.   
“This is the place,” he said, and Rhett felt the anxiety in his voice. He smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring.   
“Lead the way, then,” he encouraged, and Link turned his back and walked straight into the trees. Rhett followed dutifully behind, blinded by seemingly unending trees, until suddenly there were no trees anymore and there was clear, open space and green light and Link was stood in the middle of it all _beaming_ at him, pure sunlight burning in his smile and Rhett wasn’t sure why Link brought him here but he was glad that he did.   
“This is it,” Link murmured, and Rhett stepped forward into the clearing. There was a single picnic table in the middle of it, slightly worn and starting to fall apart - and probably would have been amazing if it weren’t in the wrong place at the wrong time - but still, standing. Rhett wondered how much of that were true of himself.  
Link was looking at him nervously now, and he turned to the shorter man with a soft smile.   
“This place is beautiful, Link. Thank you for taking me here.”  
Link perked up a little at this, smiling and practically dragging Rhett by the hand to the table. He sat on the _table_ part, not the bench. Rhett joined him. The table was an altogether different experience of sitting. It felt like a victory; a subtle middle finger to mothers everywhere. _I’m a big kid now, so I can sit on the table. Fuck you!_  
They sat there in silence for a long time, just sat on the table. Link inched his hand closer and closer to Rhett’s until their fingers just touched. Rhett jerked away like he’d been burned. Link looked hurt.  
“Sorry,” he murmured, face going beet red.   
Link just shook his head, “Don’t worry about it.”  
They sat on the table for a long time and talked about nothing; school, jobs, friends. Rhett avoided talking about his family. The sun slowly went down around them, and they walked back to the car and drove home in silence. Rhett couldn’t help but feel he’d ruined things irreparably. Link dropped him at his door without saying goodbye. He laid awake in bed that night and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep, running over and over in his head everything he’d done wrong.  
-  
Five days went by before Link texted him again. He was at work - it was a little cafe owned by an old woman who had lived in this town longer than he’d been alive. He didn’t do too much; cleared tables, took orders, brought cups of coffee to groups of ladies all sitting in a circle. Link’s message took him by surprise. He had to duck into the kitchen to answer it.  
[hey rhett. busy tonight?]  
 _Yes!_ A chance to redeem himself.  
[No]  
And then, after feeling like an idiot for two and a half minutes,  
[Want to do something? I get off work at six.]  
Link replied almost immediately.  
[sure. should i come pick you up?]  
[Sounds ok to me. Dinner?]  
There was a long period of no reply. Rhett started to worry. When his text alert went off he almost dropped his phone.  
[im into dinner. specially dinner w you. see u @ 6 30?]  
[See you at 6:30]  
[x]  
Rhett’s heart leapt. 6:30! Dinner! He was going to dinner with Link, like a proper date, and they’d talk and laugh and maybe even say they’d see each other again, and maybe this time Rhett wouldn’t ruin it, and it would be perfect.  
The next five hours dragged by. Every second felt like a minute; every minute felt like a day. Rhett rode his bike home because he didn’t have a car and he hung up his shirt on the bathroom door when he showered because he didn’t have an iron. The doorbell rang at 6:30 sharp, and as Rhett fastened the top button on his shirt he noted Link’s punctuality. He thought he was maybe a tad too dressed up for only a second outing, but he liked to look nice.   
Link was also somewhat dressed up, though still sporting his regular all-black ensemble. This time, though, it consisted of a denim jacket over a button-down and unripped jeans, with red sneakers and what Rhett was sure was a different pair of glasses. He held a bunch of flowers, which he held out to Rhett as he opened the door.  
“Woah- hey! Are these- These are for me?” Rhett felt like an idiot for asking, because _um, yes, of course they were, what was he, an idiot?_ They were beautiful. Link beamed and nodded at him.  
“Yeah, bought ‘em special.” Rhett felt his heart somersault. _Special._  
“Are you going to come in while I put these in a vase?” he asked, and Link stepped inside, still grinning.  
“So this is your place?” Link asked as he trailed Rhett to the kitchen.  
“Yeah- It’s nothing special, I know, but it-”  
“No, no,” Link cut him off, looking in wonder at his living room like he’d never seen one before. Rhett filled a vase with water and set the flowers in it, tucking it onto the windowsill. “This is a real nice place,” Link observed, eyes aglow. Rhett wanted to dissolve in a puddle of giggles.  
“Thank you,” he said it like a question, heart racing. “Do you want a drink? Coffee, or-?”  
Link raised his eyebrows, smiling, “Too late for coffee. Something more… appropriate? WIne maybe?”  
Rhett felt himself freeze. He swallowed the lump in his throat. His mouth was suddenly very dry. He was going to make things go wrong again like he did last time they saw each other. Link was going to think- well, he was going to think all kinds of things, wasn’t he?   
“Oh, um, I don’t- I’ve never really done the whole- the drinking thing?”  
Link laughed, but then saw he was being serious, and the smile dropped from his face. He was quiet for a long time. This was it; he was going to turn around and leave. He’d missed his shot.  
“No worries. Let’s go, anyway, we’ll miss our reservations.”  
“Reservations?” Rhett squeaked, and Link grinned at him. He didn’t answer, just turned on his heel and started out the door. He was in the car by the time Rhett locked the door, and his heart was racing as he opened the passenger side door. The car was still unsettling, still smelled like probably-just-oregano, but it felt somehow more natural to be sitting in it than it did last time. Maybe he was less nervous or maybe the music on the radio was more familiar or maybe it was Link, and his light, and the way he just radiated this positive, wonderful energy. Rhett felt like a child again. He watched each darkened street fly by as they barrelled off to some unknown location, and for once, he didn’t feel that nagging ball of doubt in his chest. He felt normal and confident and happy and _free._

* * *

The restaurant was nice enough. The food was nice enough. The conversation was nice enough. Things were going well.  
They walked around a park a block away, and Rhett wondered if there was anywhere in this city Link didn’t know. They laughed. The stars lit up the night. Things were going well.  
But then Link reached for his hand again, and he could physically _feel_ the walls shoot back up. He jerked his hand away involuntarily, fear settling instantly in his chest. Link stopped dead, looking at him like he’d just grown a second head.   
“You keep doing that,” he observed, not a hint of malice or anger in his voice. Just confusion. Rhett really wanted to not exist anymore.  
“Yeah,” he replied, suddenly very interested in the ground. Rhett swore he was going to vomit or pass out or explode.  
“Why?” Link asked, and his voice was soft; Rhett could feel those icy blue eyes burning into his skin. When he was silent for a long time, Link said, “Come, sit. Talk to me.”  
He moved aside, perching himself on a large brick planter. Rhett followed dutifully.   
“What’s your damage, Rhett?” he asked, and Rhett very suddenly wanted to cry. It was so casual, so relaxed; not a hint of condescending therapist’s tinge or the cold, calculated, cynical ways of his mother; no asking-without-asking, not a hint of deception or ulterior motive in his words.   
Rhett opened his mouth, and words poured out of him like water. It all started to make sense; the anxieties and the nervous tics and the need for routine and every little habit; the flinches at every touch and the fear instilled in him by the strike of the clock; the terror brought about by every little mistake, the aversion to anything that might have got him in trouble. And Link listened. And he understood. And he wiped Rhett’s tears with the sleeve of his jacket, and they walked back to the car a little closer, and Link walked Rhett to his door and promised to see him again, and they parted ways with smiles on their faces, and it was okay, it was okay, it was going to be okay.   
-  
They were laid on the hood of his car. The city sprawled out in front of them; lit up all over; pink and blue and red and yellow and orange and white, all twinkling like a jewel in the dark. The soft music that poured from the stereo floated up, up, up, and got lost in the night air. Link was laughing at his own joke. Rhett closed his eyes and smiled and felt all fuzzy inside. This was perfect; a fizzy, movie tomorrow that he’d never thought existed. If he could tell his past self about this, he wouldn’t believe it. If he could tell the quiet 12-year-old in the church pews trying to pray his feelings away - the one kneeling on dry rice all night while all his friends were going out and having a good time, because of something insignificant and trivial at 15; the one majoring in the wrong thing at the wrong college with few friends and fewer plans; the one from three months ago renting the shitty house with the water leaks and the drafty windows and the scary landlord - he wouldn’t believe it.  
Yet, unbelievably, here they were.   
They were laid on the hood of his car. The backs of their hands touched ever so slightly. Link was warm. He sang along to the stereo quietly, fingers tapping out the bassline against the wearing blue paint.   
This was nice. It was casual. It was like what Rhett imagined a date would be, if he was the kind of person who went on dates, which this wasn’t. He had to keep reminding himself that. Not a date. Not a date. He couldn’t get his hopes up. Link was amazing; funny and confident and _gorgeous_ , and that was exactly why he couldn’t let himself get excited. He would _never_ go for somebody like Rhett. Would he?  
 _Don’t even think about it,_ chimed his brain, and he shook his head to try and dispel the thought.   
A single tree stood atop the hill beside them. Rhett felt like it could hear his thoughts.   
“Say,” Link murmured, pointing vaguely upwards, pulling Rhett straight out of his thoughts. He followed Link’s finger with his eyes and just saw sky. “Those stars look like a dragon.”  
“Where?” Rhett squinted at the cluster of light, but saw nothing but pinpricks in the dark. Link shifted closer to him, traced the outline with his finger. Still, he saw nothing.  
“Here,” Link grabbed his wrist and outlined the stars with Rhett’s finger. He saw it, and it was a dragon, and it was fascinating.   
“But- That’s Gemini. See?” Rhett pointed out the constellation, and Link made a kind of ‘pff’ sound and sat up on the hood. Rhett propped himself up on one elbow. “What?”  
“Fuck your consolations. I made a dragon. What’s your Gemini compared to my fucking dragon?” Link blew out through his teeth, and Rhett laughed, sitting up and hugging his knees. “My dragon,” he continued, “Will set your Gemini on fire.”  
“Did you say ‘consolations? It’s ‘constellations’, man. Like stars. Consolations is what you say when somebody dies.”  
Link looked at him blankly for a moment, then cracked a smile, then laughed, and he was _laughing_ , and it was _beautiful._ Rhett’s own smile faltered momentarily, but he shook his head minutely; he was _allowed_ to feel like this. He was allowed to find Link beautiful because that’s what he was.   
The night wore on, fast, faster than Rhett could have anticipated. He was almost upset that it had to be over so soon. They drove home in silence, but comfortable silence, blanket taken from the hood and bundled up in the back of the car with the questionable smell and the fifty plastic bottles. Link knew every word to every song on the radio, and he sang and sang and sang, and Rhett listened to his beautiful vocals the whole drive and wondered when he could see the band again.   
They pulled up to Rhett’s door. They were still for a long time, silent, engine shut off, looking at each other. And then Link said, “Let me walk you to your door and got out of the car, and Rhett followed him, even as he walked past the door and around the whole block. Somewhere around half way, Rhett’s hand brushed against Link’s, and their fingers caught and then intertwined, and Rhett’s heart was racing and his cheeks were flushing because he was _holding hands with a boy._ The giddiness rose up in his chest till he was grinning without even realising it. And Link was smiling too, and they walked the block in silence, and it was peaceful, and calm, and Rhett was in love with it.  
They reached the place where they started again. Rhett’s door. They were silent. They were still holding hands as they stood on the porch, and the yellow light glowed above Link’s head and made him look like an angel, and Rhett thought he just might be. And he wasn’t sure how it happened, but it did, and he leaned down, and Link leaned up, and then he was kissing him - he was _kissing_ a _boy_. It only lasted a few seconds, and there was nothing to it, but Rhett found it so effortlessly easy that he could do it forever. He wanted to live in this moment for the rest of his life. The trees leered in around them, listening to every move they made. He was reminded of being a child - or, less of an adult - young and ashamed and _kissing a boy_. The trees had listened then, too; the big, scary forest behind his house where his father cut wood and his mother picked flowers and he kissed boys. The trees had listened then and they listened now, but this was so different, Rhett didn’t even care.  
They parted ways with smiles on their faces, and Rhett went to bed that night giddy and full of hope and light and vim.  
-  
Here he was. Time had passed. A thousand dates had gone by - because that’s what they were now, he could say that - a million words, countless kisses, show after show after show, and Link played his heart out on stage every time, regardless of who was there or who was listening. Rhett stood backstage and watched in awe, heart thumping in time with the bass that those familiar fingers played so well.   
Now, he stood behind the speakers, as he so often did, looking out onto the smoky, warm-lit stage, singing along with the words of a song he knew. He watched as the guitarist - Mike - fired into a solo, and Link got up on the drum riser, back to the room, sucking down the contents of a water bottle while he could. He shot Rhett a sharp grin and a flash of those bright blue eyes before hopping back down and launching straight back into the chorus. It struck Rhett how much the words of this song mirrored how he felt; something about not belonging, not knowing who you were, not knowing who someone else was. Stereotypically edgy, yes, but it summed up pretty well how he’d felt when he met Link, and kind of how he felt now. What was this? Who was he to the glorious man singing his heart out on that stage? Why did he care now?  
He shook his head and condemned it to the part of his brain that he only tapped into when he was alone. He didn’t need to think about it now.   
The rest of the show went on, and the crowd sang, everyone knew every word to every song. There was a menagerie of voices and lights and sounds, all coming for _Link’s_ band. Rhett felt proud.  
They played something new; something about being young and in love and stupid, and Link got the mic in his hand as he finished and beckoned to Rhett. He stepped forward minutely, but Link shook his head.  
“Come on out,” he said, and the crowd cheered. “Come out here, Rhett.”  
He came out, stood by Link’s side and smiled at his shoes.   
“I just wanted to show you all,” Link said, and Rhett could hear him smiling, “Who I was thinkin’ about when I was writing that song.”  
Rhett felt bashful, shoved him and said, “Shut up,” and Link beamed at him.  
“I’ve embarrassed him,” he said, and the crowd yelled again. Rhett wondered if they ever stopped yelling. “You don’t have to stay up here if you don’t want, I just wanted to show you to ‘em.”   
Link gave him a wolf-like smile when he said that, and Rhett couldn’t help but laugh. He walked offstage still grinning, and Link grinned after him, eyes lingering on him for a long time.  
“God, y’all. That’s my _boyfriend!_ Can you _believe_ that?”  
The crowd cheered again, and Rhett’s heart cheered too.  
 _Boyfriend._   
He was someone's boyfriend. He had his own boyfriend. The word sounded so good. It sounded like freedom. Whenever he thought about it coming out of Link's mouth in front of all those people, it made his heart swell.  
He rode his wave of happiness all night, all the way home and into his bed, and as he was falling asleep he smirked at the ceiling and thought _take that, past self._ And his past self didn’t listen, but his present self didn't care, because his present self was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long lmao its kinda long as you can see  
> comments are appreciated so so much thank you all and i love you

**Author's Note:**

> comments would make my day ty  
> please be nice  
> <3


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